


you're the anchor that i tie to my brain

by tryalittlejoytomorrow



Category: Runaways (TV 2017)
Genre: Anxiety Disorder, College, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Future Fic, Post-Finale, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-08
Updated: 2020-03-08
Packaged: 2021-02-23 03:54:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23071915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tryalittlejoytomorrow/pseuds/tryalittlejoytomorrow
Summary: "Gert?" Molly's voice is soft, tender. Sometimes it's hard to remember she's the little sister. "It's gonna be okay. We can do this.""This?""You know, this whole being happy thing."------Gert, Chase, and chasing dreams and growing up and moving on.
Relationships: Chase Stein/Gertrude Yorkes
Comments: 18
Kudos: 70





	you're the anchor that i tie to my brain

**Author's Note:**

> remember when I posted my first story and said I had tons of ideas to write more?? well it was true, and I started a few ficlets but wasn't satisfied with anything. so I started back from scratch and here's where it got me. hope you enjoy!
> 
> title from Bastille's "The Anchor"

The week they move in their new place is the hottest of the summer yet, and despite a nice orgasm, Gert cringes at the logistics of clammy skin and sex on a mattress on the floor surrounded by empty boxes of Chinese take-out. She should have taken the trash out, but she was all worn out from spending the day unloading boxes of books - _so many books_ \- and Chase's muscles looked delicious through his sweaty t-shirt, and, _well_. They have the whole place to themselves now.

She's the same she was a week before, when she was putting all these books in boxes in the first place, but - it feels _different_ , Chase's frenzied hands as he unbuttoned her shirt and sent it flying on the floor, making love to her on _their_ makeshift bed. It feels different and a little bit overwhelming, but in a good way, Gert tells herself. They're home for real now, a home they'll build together, her books and all his tinkering tools she can't name, and it's going to be great. It will.

Except that her back is killing her because eighteen is definitely _too old_ to sleep on the floor and Chase is snoring right in her ear and as much as she likes to pretend otherwise, _not_ -everything about him is sexy, and right now he sounds like Old Lace and she misses her girl so damn much, it feels like a punch in the gut. Chase is a furnace pressed at her side and she nudges at him, heaves in a puff when he won't move. "Chase," she sighs in a loud whisper. "Come on. _Move_."

He's heavy and all muscles, and so deep in sleep he won't move an inch. Gert doesn't know how he can sleep like this. Her hair is sticking to the back of her neck, sweat soaking through her tank top, and fuck all the romantic notions that led her to falling asleep in his arms instead of taking a shower, honestly. Gert tries at his shoulder again, wipes a hand across her face in fatigue when it fails. Chase is all but wrapped all over her, face nestled in her neck, arm looped around her middle, a thigh braced over her lap. It'd be fine - more than fine, she loves him there, all around her - if it weren't a thousand degrees in here, what the hell, this is Massachusetts, this shouldn't even be an issue.

Fuck, she misses California.

The moon dips low, pale light scattered through the blinds, just enough for Gert to crane her neck and find her phone on the floor. Her sister answers on the second ring. "Gert, hey. Isn't it, like, the middle of the night for you?"

Chuckling, Gert checks the time on her phone. _3am_. There's a thing to be said about her nocturnal conversations with herself. "What are _you_ doing up at midnight, Molls?"

Molly laughs; Gert wants to record it. Play it whenever she misses her, which, considering this is their first week apart and she's calling her sister in the middle of the night, is probably going to be _a lot_. "Movie night. It was Alex's turn to pick, but he always chooses old movies, so Nico called him a movie snob, and then they argued and the pizza got cold and -"

Gert doesn't exactly focus on what Molly is telling her, only on the stream of words, the melody to her sister's voice that's so comforting, a sure thing in the dark. She knows she'll be happy here, with Chase, she knows it with every fiber of her being - this is what she wants, and if anything, Gert is known to pursue what she wants. But, fuck, they spent months all holed up together, and it tears at her heart, the thought of them being separated now, time zones and states between them, Chase and her on the other side of the world, her baby sister and their friends living a life of their own without them.

Parallel lives. Who would have thought it would be the strangest thing they'd do, when they've done _time travel_?

"- and I wanted to watch _Hunger Games_ , but Karolina said if we watch the first one we would have to watch the whole saga, and I was, like, up for it, you know? but you guys are so old, Alex was like, we can't watch four movies in a row. Tell me this isn't my future, Gert. I don't want to grow old."

"Molly. If anyone's ever going to be young forever, it's you," Gert says, and she means it. Molly's too sweet for this world to ever wane. "How's Old Lace?" She tries to sound cool, but Gert's terrible at hiding the croak in her voice.

"She misses you, but she's good. Getting herself used to living at Nico's. We should do a video call later." Molly's tone is soothing, as if she were talking to a child, Gert's glad for it. She'd slap anyone calling her out on it, but she likes to be coddled sometimes. It brings her back to a time when she didn't have to worry about _everything_. "I miss you too, you know?"

Gert's throat closes up. She's _this_ close to crying on top of Chase's sleepy head, which, considering how deep in sleep he is, wouldn't even bother him, but it would her, so, no, nope, she will not christen their first night at their apartment by crying in bed because she's emotional and she wants it all but she misses it all, too. Misses the comfort of knowing where she's heading, of having parents who drive her to school, who care about her day. Gert doesn't know how to cook the kind of healthy food Chase likes, has no idea how to balance grocery shopping and studying and keeping herself sane far from everything and everyone she's ever known and loved.

Eighteen definitely feels too young to make all these decisions on her own.

"Gert?" Molly's voice is soft, tender. Sometimes it's hard to remember she's the little sister. "It's gonna be okay. We can do this."

"This?"

"You know, this whole being happy thing."

Some would call Molly naive, but Gert knows her, knows how her sort of tunnel vision has helped her focus on the goal, and not on all the obstacles to overcome on her way there. It's kind of a miracle, really, how Molly can do that - blur the bad at the edges of her field of vision, and see only the good. It's what Chase does, too, and it's the perfect balance to Gert's hopeful pessimism, or fearful optimism, she doesn't even know anymore? Anyway, it's a nice reprieve at three in the morning.

Gert stifles a yawn in Chase's hair, presses a kiss to the crown of his head. The asshole only snores louder, she loves him so damn much. "Love you, Molls."

"Me, too. Say hi to Chase for me when he wakes up. And go to sleep!"

It's still too hot, but Gert breathes a little easier.

* * *

Their apartment is tiny. It's a one-bedroom, with barely enough room to open the closet once their bed will finally be delivered, but it was the only thing they could afford (when you've refused money from your rich but extremely, ethically questionable parents) within reasonable distance from both their schools. Gert will take the bus, and Chase will ride his bike because his ass and legs aren't all too perfect already. The living-room is piled up with unopened boxes, and their kitchenware is a mix of old and new.

Thank God Chase had the good idea to start on the shelves the day before. He's done some sort of intricate design around the TV set, courtesy of some decorating show he's binged during their flight, and she's in awe, really. They have so many books, and she's only partly to blame, who knew Chase read so much? Gert stands before the pile of books, and frowns. For someone like her, there's no good way to organize books, but about a dozen, and maybe she should wait for Chase, ask what he likes? Her first idea is a his/hers situation, but she rebuts it instantly - this is their place, and she doesn't want it to feel like here's his side, and there's hers. Alphabetical order makes sense, as does size, which is visually a lot more appealing to her, but what if Chase finds it oppressive, her way of wanting everything in its right place?

"How about by color? Make it a rainbow."

Gert spins, clutching her chest. She was pretty sure she'd heard him snoring still just moments ago. "Chase. _Jesus_."

He's standing there, his hair a mess, mussed and sticking-out and falling too long over his forehead, he needs a haircut. Chase closes the gap between them, wraps his arm around her neck, and Gert folds herself into his side; it's still the most natural thing she knows how to do. His skin is still clammy with sweat and she makes a face. "You need a shower."

Chase sniffs the air, buries his nose in her hair. Inhales deeply. " _You_ don't. God, I love your shampoo." His fingers flick the loose end of her plait, her hair still wet from her shower, the slow drip of water drops down her neck and back a small mercy in the warm morning. "Who knew it was so goddamn hot in here?"

"No one," Gert shakes her head. "Wikipedia talked about warm summers, but not this humid hell."

Chase laughs. Lets go of her, picks up a few books. "Inner or outer rim of the rainbow?" he asks.

He's easing into it, into _her_ and the ways of her brain, and it's so goddamn charming, Gert almost tackles him to the floor. It's a good thing she has the experience of how uncomfortable the night was to prevent her from doing it again. "What do you make of the whites and greys and blacks?"

He bites down on his lip, thinks about it. She loves that about him - how seriously he takes her, no questions asked. "Hide them because they're messing with my rainbow theme?"

Chase grins at her, boyish and adorable, and it's a good thing - to remember they're still kids playing grown-ups while trying to learn how to be decent adults. Gert goes to her tiptoes, presses a kiss to his lips. "Go take a shower, I'll make breakfast. We'll deal with this mess later."

She takes the trash out, brews a pot of coffee, examines his protein shake mix with a wary eye; holds onto the kitchen counter with clutching hands and breathes heavily when she realizes how fucking domestic it all is and she's not ready, _she's not_ , she can't be someone's everything. The hostel was like an extended camping trip, whereas here, they're building something anew, and who does that leave to make the rules? Certainly not her, if she can't even organize their bookshelves.

Chase finds her staring at the coffee pot, and he has to _see_ it, how fucking terrified she is, Gert wants to bury herself six feet under and hide forever. Chase comes up behind her, wraps both arms around her and props his chin on her shoulder. "You're freaking out, aren't you?" he says more than asks, soft, low, as he squeezes her.

Gert nods. She doesn't trust herself not to blurt it all out, how out of her depth she feels here, playing wife; because this is what this is, down to it, really, love birds taking their flight, moving in together, thinking they've got it all figured out. But she's _eighteen_ , and she loves him, God, she _does_ , but they've spent two years not talking to each other, and now she has to reconcile the memory of Chase when they were young to the man he's become now, good and brave and so fucking strong against all odds, and it's _hard_. It is, there's no denying it. She loves him but she doesn't know all of him; doesn't know all of herself, either, not the Gert without the medication, not anymore, nor the Gert who dares and cowers in the dark at the same time and who doesn't make the slightest sense to her.

It's like, a ton of shit happened to them, around them, and to some extent, _because_ of them, too, and moving on isn't as easy as songs and movies make it seem. It doesn't have to be so hard, Gert knows - it's exactly the kind of sweet nonsense Chase would say - but it's not easy either, and everything is a lot. _A lot_.

"What do you want me to do?" Chase asks. "Do you want some space?"

Her answer is immediate. "No. Not that. No." She doesn't want him to go, knows what it'll fuel in her mind - he wants to leave but he's only staying because he's scared you'll do something stupid, this was a terrible idea - and she's worked hard to lock that kind of thoughts for good. "Tell me things are gonna be okay."

"Everything's gonna be okay." He means it, she hears it in his voice.

Gert sighs, exhales loudly. Reaches up to squeeze his hands locked above her chest. "Okay. What happens when we fight? This place is tiny, it's not like there's a lot of room for fighting."

"I'll slam the door and go for a run," Chase answers easily. "You'll lock yourself in the bedroom and make me sleep on the couch. Does that sound good?"

"Not good," Gert snaps, then softens. "Nah, it does. It's what I would do. You can't leave too long, though. An hour." She tilts her head, locks eyes with him. "You can't leave for more than an hour or I'll panic, okay?"

Chase nods. "Sure. Make-up sex? We need to talk about make-up sex."

Gert tries to hide her grin, but he sees it. "What about it?"

"Are we the kind of couple who has make-up sex? If so, I vote for the whole movie thing, like, we're both still fuming, but we can't keep our hands off each other."

Gert bats his hand away, frees herself of his hold. "You're such a boy."

"Have you seen yourself?" Chase says, cupping her waist with his hands. "It's the most realistic thing ever, me not being able to keep my hands off you."

Her whole body flushes, and Chase follows the trail that stems from her neck to her cheek with his lips. He's good, she'll give him that, make-up sex _, I-love-you_ -sex, or no sex at all, and all. "The coffee's gonna get cold," she chastises him, hands weakly pushing at his chest, traitorous fingers curling around the fabric of his shirt, pulling him in closer. They're eighteen, after all, and having sex on all the flat surfaces they can find is the norm according to Hollywood.

Chase's mouth reaches hers, and her legs go a little bit jelly, she's lucky to be stuck between the kitchen cabinet and Chase's chest. He pulls back before the kiss deepens, and Gert moans at the loss. "You need to tell me when things get too much."

She frowns. That wasn't too much. That was the perfect beginning. "That was good."

Chase pecks her lips, reaches for two mugs and fills them up. "That was better than good," he grins at her, wolf-like, "but that's beside the point. You're freaking out."

"Thanks for reminding me." She pouts like a child and she knows it, hip against the kitchen counter, arms crossed.

Chase shrugs. He grabs for the cereals and yoghurt and sets the counter like they've done this all their lives. He sits on a bar stool while she glares at him, pushes her mug towards her. "I'm not saying we have to figure it all out today, but, I mean - I _know_ you, Gert."

She keeps glaring at him over the rim of her mug. "If you knew me so well, you'd know I can't have this kind of conversation before breakfast."

"In my defense, you did say you were gonna make breakfast," Chase retorts, so fucking smug she wants to kiss and slap him both. She needs to find a new therapist to talk about all these exploding feelings she has for him; how she can be irritated by his sheer presence sometimes, or how she wants to wrap herself around him, keep him close and never let go at times, she could suffocate him with her love. It's too much and it's scary, but that's how she loves him - to a point of madness that brings her clarity and focus and direction.

She can't very well tell him that before he's even finished his first cup of coffee.

He eats his cereals in silence, eyes on her, waiting, and it should infuriate her but it doesn't. Chase wants to know her, understand her, and that's what makes all the difference in the world for her. He's not offering to help her or cure her somehow, like she's an invalid, but he's genuinely interested in getting to know her well enough to help her navigate through life like they're just another ordinary couple instead of teenage runaways. She's so fucking grateful for that she could cry.

She digs a spoon from one of the kitchen boxes, props herself on the stool beside his and steals a mouthful from his bowl. "How did you know I was freaking out?"

He looks bashful, so she almost expects him to say he was expecting it, and he wouldn't be wrong, really. "'Cause I was kinda freaking out, too," he admits instead, cheeks pink. Gert stares at him with wide eyes. Chase laughs a tiny chuckle. "It's a lot for me too, you know."

She does and she doesn't. It gets so loud in her head, sometimes it's almost impossible to remember that others feel, too. Gert bites the apology on her tongue, swallows the bitter taste of it; knows Chase will tell her he doesn't want her to be sorry, but she is. Instead, she reaches for his hand, interlocks their fingers together. "I don't want what's in my head to take up all the room. There needs to be room for both of us here."

He smiles. "That's a lot of adulting before nine in the morning, we're so healthy." Chase cups the back of her head and kisses her, and she could get used to this side of domesticity pretty easily. "Anyway, they should deliver the bed and couch before eleven. You take care of the closet and bathroom cabinet and I take care of the books?"

Maybe this can be easy like nothing ever is, after all.

* * *

Gert frowns. "I don't get it, all my favorite books are _up there_ ," she whines as she stretches her arm and still can't reach the top shelf. "Did you forget how small I was just because I was on the other side of the wall?"

Chase rolls his eyes and flops down on the freshly delivered couch. "Have some faith in me, Yorkes. You keep complaining that you never get around to reading all the new books you buy because you can't choose and always end up rereading your faves. I figured, if they're up there, you'd rather choose a new book than drag up a chair to get one, right?"

"You underestimate my love for them," Gert whines, but he's not wrong. She's terrible at decision-making, and all her shiny new books have been collecting dust for months. She flops down beside him, tucks her legs beneath her as she examines his handiwork, Chase's arm falling seamlessly around her. "Okay, explain the method to your madness."

"Top shelf is worn-out books, favorite books, old loves we'll always love but need to grow from." Her eyebrow shots up, and he holds up his hand. "I heard that on that decoration show. It's not a bad idea. Middle shelves are all the books you've bought the past few months, from the ones you seemed most excited about to the least. And then, all our school books on the lower shelf, so we can't pretend we can't find them when we're supposed to study."

Gert studies him carefully. It's not the first time the thought crosses her mind - Chase Stein is something else. "Well, I'm impressed. You should know I organized your clothes by how hot you look in them."

"Ah." He loops his arm around her neck, brings her closer for a kiss, his free hand sliding in her hair, fingers twining in it. It's crazy, how obsessed he is with her hair, but, Gert figures, she's the same about him, and it's the most teenage girl thing about her, how wobbly her knees get when she looks at him. She feels him smile into the kiss and it makes her feel a little giddy, and she focuses on that, how happy he makes her, how delirious she gets when he touches her, she barely registers the moment her head hits the throw pillow and Chase hovers over her. "Time to christen the couch?"

She touches the corner of his mouth where it twitches in a grin, dazed, awestruck by how reckless he is with his feelings, so openly happy, it's contagious. They still have a dozen things to do about the apartment, school, and everything, but if Chase wants to make-out on their new couch and bed all day, she's down for it.

With him, she's down for anything.

* * *

Going back to school _without_ Chase is hard, which unsettles Gert, considering she's spent two years without him already, she didn't expect the wave of sadness and unease. Molly and the girls insist on calling her via video chat, supervising her first day like this is prom and they're proud moms, and Gert smiles through it, shows enough excitement to pass the test, and braces herself for a full day in a world where she doesn't know anything or anyone, which is - literally the most anxiety-inducing thing her brain can conceive.

It's daunting and terrifying but she makes it, even _enjoys_ it, finding her place in the world without thinking of herself as Chase's girlfriend, or Molly's sister, or part of the Runaways. She's not even Gert the angry feminist from high school anymore, or Gert the lovesick puppy pining over a boy who's long forgotten her, a paradox wrapped in an armor of sarcasm and rage. She's someone new and she's not, doesn't feel different where it matters but still Gert can't pretend she's the same girl who first dreamed about going to Smith.

But she wants to get to know her, this new girl, anyway. It's still sort of miraculous, that she even gets to be this girl at all, after everything.

Chase texts her a couple of times through the day, asks about orientation and her schedule, but he's not overbearing, and she's grateful for it. If he'd offered to go with her she would have felt like a kid who can't handle herself, and even though it's hard, she's glad to see, to _prove_ to herself that this was the right decision, moving out and moving _on_ , starting anew here. She even meets a couple of girls who seem nice; all in a hard day's work.

When she gets home she half-expects to find Chase waiting on her like a worried parent; instead she finds him perusing books at the kitchen counter, eyes squinting over his textbooks like he's been doing this all day, taking notes. Gert stops dead in her tracks. "Chase?" she calls out, unsure. "Are you - are you _studying_? _Before_ the start of term?" He looks like a doe caught in the headlights, wide eyes, mouth gaping open, and Gert can't help but laugh. " _Wow_."

Chase sticks out his tongue at her, but she can see the wrinkle between his brow, how serious he looks, and Gert bites at the inside of her cheek. This is a big deal to him; she knows how smart he is, but his school record hasn't exactly prepared him to believe he could make it beside lacrosse. "Hey," she says, softer, as she walks to him, squeezes his shoulder. "Want some help making flashcards?"

His eyes say _yes, please_ , but Chase shakes his head. "Nah, I'm good. I'll take you up on that during exams, though." She ruffles his hair and he leans into her touch, closing his eyes for a second, she can just see he's spent all day studying. Gert works her fingers at the nape of his neck, between his shoulders, and he moans. "Mmmh. I should be the one doing that," he chastises her. "How was it?"

Gert kisses his cheek. "We'll talk about that later. Come on, come here," she cajoles him, taking him by the hand as she leads him to the couch and sits him before her as she resumes working on the knots between his shoulder blades.

It's a nice change - taking care of him. They take care of each other, really, but Gert is painfully aware that there's a very real unbalance in their relationship when it comes to breakdowns and meltdowns and cages and feeling trapped in your own mind. She'll listen to him when he needs to vent about his parents, and she'll help him study and focus on school, learn how to make all the healthy meals he needs for that big brain of his, but it has limits, this little ecosystem of theirs, Chase and Gert against the rest of the world.

She works a little harder between his shoulder blades, relishes the moan that escapes his lips. It does things to her, too, and the flush that creeps up her skin is welcome. It feels good to _feel_ , she realizes, even if it's scary sometimes. She hasn't found a new medication that works quite right yet, but she hasn't had a real freak-out in weeks either, so.

"Hey." He brings her out of her reverie, tilting his head sideways to look at her. His voice is husky, that tiny hoarse edge in it, vulnerable and only half-awake. "Do you have class on Tuesday afternoon?"

She doesn't. And he should know she doesn't, because she answered his short _how's your schedule_ with a very detailed description of it. Gert plays along anyway. "Nope. Why?"

Chase bites down on his bottom lip. He's nervous. "I, uh - I found this office around campus. You know, for - for an appointment."

Gert's fingers still. They've been talking about this for a while, and _not talking_ about it at the same time. Chase has said that he was thinking about seeing someone back in L.A., but he always shies away from words like _therapy_ and _shrinks_ in every conversation they've had since. It's the _one_ area where Gert feels more at ease than him; she's been seeing shrinks and taking meds for so long now (which, she knows, doesn't sound as healthy as it should, considering her mom and her life and every shitty thing) she doesn't feel _bad_ about it, about talking about it, how messy and loud it can get in her head sometimes.

She brushes a stray curl at his forehead. He looks more like a boy these days, with his hair overgrown, in desperate need of a back-to-school cut; Chase butts his head into her palm and exhales slowly. "You - will you go with me?" he asks in that soft, low tone of his, gentle and fragile all at once. "I just - I don't know if I can go alone. I hate waiting rooms."

Gert nods, wraps an arm around his neck and leans in, pressing her chin atop his head. "Sure, of course." She gets it, how weird the whole process feels, sitting in a small room with tons of outdated magazines and unloading level five trauma you'd only ever tell a close friend about to a total stranger. "You know you don't have to go through it if you're not comfortable with it, right?"

Chase shrugs one shoulder. "Do shrinks really start with _'so what brings you here?_ ' or is that just tv shit?"

Gert laughs. Resumes working at the knots between his shoulders. "Yeah, they do. And, I mean, what would _you_ say? _Hi, hello, tell me what's wrong with you?_ "

He turns to face her then, arms loosely looped around his knees. "I don't know where to start."

"Chase..."

"I mean, it's ridiculous, right?" he chuckles, rubbing a hand down his jaw and neck. "I'm the one making the appointment, I should know what I want to talk about. But, there's - there's just so much -"

He makes a frustrated noise, locks his fingers behind his neck as he looks up. Gert slides down to the floor, wraps her arms around her own knees too. There will be a time to offer up stories of her own therapy sessions, of feeling weak to her stomach when the only thing that could quell the anger and the fear were her pills; how sometimes the hardest thing is to talk when all she wants to do is crawl in bed and hide, hide from the world, and every echo in her head.

For now though, she sits, quiet. Stares at the tension in his jaw, the nervous tick in his right cheek. Knows he hates feeling like this, out of his depth, half desperate. She feels it too.

Chase doesn't say anything.

Wipes a hand across his face, scratches at his head. Tugs at his hair. "It's getting too long, isn't it?" he says, dropping the subject.

Gert follows his lead. "Yeah. You look like a puppy."

His lips twitch up. "Will you cut it?"

She shakes her head. "That is the worst idea ever, you'll look terrible and I _can't_ be responsible for that."

He stretches his leg, nudges at her calf. "Come on, then. Let's go out. You still need to tell me all about your day."

* * *

They fall into a well-oiled routine by mid-November. Chase gets up first in the morning; goes for a run, takes a shower, splashes droplets of water on Gert's cheek when he leans down to wake her. He makes breakfast; prepares Gert's pill and meds, makes sure she takes them. Walks her to her bus stop before going off to school. Gert, for her part, is in charge of all the scheduling and organization; it works well for her anxiety, obsessive behaviors under control, for once. She makes grocery lists, study sheets; learns that cooking isn't that hard once she starts seeing it as following directions.

That works until she's elbow-deep in stuffing a turkey and realizes she's mixed up salt and _sugar_ , exactly thirty minutes before Molly's and their friends' plane is supposed to land. Gert waits for the panic to rise and overcome her.

Wipes her greasy hands on her apron, then slowly rinses them off at the sink.

Looks back at her ruined turkey.

And then she laughs, something loud and bubbly that startles Chase from trying to set the table for six where there's barely room for four at best. He cocks an eyebrow, tilting his head to the side. "Mmh. What's going on there?"

Gert keeps laughing, indulging into the almost hysteria that outdoes her anxiety. "I ruined Thanksgiving," she says, brandishing the sugar bag for him to see.

Chase walks up to her, sniffs the sugary stuffing. "Maybe we can fix it. I bet it's happened before," he offers with an encouraging smile, plucking his phone from his pocket and tapping with quick fingers. "There's this one recipe - oh, no, wait, it's made with _apples_ , that's just -"

Gert interrupts him with a kiss, both hands bunched in the lapels of his suit jacket. It's the same one he wore at the dance, a million years ago, and even though it's a slightly tighter fit around the shoulders now he looks the same as he did on that night, back when they thought the world was ending. But it's kept spinning on, summer turning to fall, their new home on the east coast, their first Thanksgiving as hosts, and life can be messy and scary at times but it's mostly good, nightly group video calls with their friends, that little coffee shop two blocks away where Gert does her best work, the bus ride to Chase's therapy sessions, her palm cupping his knee to stop the nervous jiggling, his bigger hand wrapped around hers, shared headphones, their bus ride playlist on.

She feels him pocket his phone, and his hands find her waist, pressing her close, heat and warmth and familiarity in the gesture, cresting wave and calm sea all at once. "Planes are always late, right?" he smiles against her mouth, fingers digging at her hips, and bunching the fabric of the skirt of her dress.

Gert nods, pushes his jacket open, down his shoulders and off. "Yeah," she says between kisses, "and luggage is hell, one of them is bound to lose their suitcase."

Chase's mouth drops to her neck, and Gert's fingers tremble at the buttons of his shirt from the rush of giddiness, the thrill that dances down her spine and makes her legs wobbly. There are aspects of sex and intimacy that scare her still, but not this, never this - the flush that warms up her skin, the way Chase's fingers spread wide across her lower back, how his breath hitches when she unbuckles his belt.

It happens again then, his breath hot as it fans against her neck, and gone is any thought of ruined dinner.

* * *

By the time the cab pulls up and Molly, Karolina, Nico and Alex rush in, excited hugs and bags piling up in the small space left in the apartment, there's no taming Chase's messy hair and Gert's wrinkled dress. It's the dance and the hostel all over again, except that Nico has the decency not to comment on it this time.

The turkey's a little dry without the stuffing, and the complementary vegetables are to no one's taste, so Alex orders pizza and Thai food, and Molly opens her suitcase to reveal all their favorite board games. _This_ is what Gert is thankful for, this year - that everything's changed and nothing's changed at all; Molly talking a mile a minute, arguing over rules and points with Chase; Alex and Nico fighting over movies; Karolina making everyone make up; Gert knowing deep in her bones that these people, _her people_ , are her family. The living-room is a fortress made of sheets, the couch pulled out, a bunch of mattresses and sleeping bags borrowed from their neighbor Anika, and only when Molly's head starts lolling against Chase's shoulder do they hug and embrace again, take turn at the bathroom, and exchange sleepy _goodnights_.

In bed, Gert cuddles close to Chase's side, yawning and stretching her arm, wrapping it tight around his abdomen. There's a loose thread in his shirt, tearing a hole, and she burrows her fingers in it, tickling him. "Hey," he protests sleepily, pressing a kiss to the crown of her hair. "We made it, despite the sugar turkey."

She's grateful for him, too, always - solid and steady and strong, the one who keeps her sense of wonder awake, who brings her back when she's lost or too far gone, calm and collected and comforting, _always always always_.

Gert recalls their first night here, the first week; her first tears of frustration, her first panic attack. She remembers his fingers laced with hers, back when they were little kids, running in his parents' house while Alex counted to a hundred, giggling, crouched behind the curtains. She thinks of all the birthday parties and sleepovers and boring cocktail parties when they were left to themselves to play, hidden under the table. School projects, and tea parties, playing dress-up and grown-ups, and now here they are, _actual_ grown-ups, and they're still all here, and yeah, they've made it.

Against all odds and in spite of everything, or perhaps thanks to everything that happened, good and bad, they've made it.

She's thankful for that beyond words, and by the time she finds any, Chase is snoring softly.

It lulls her to sleep in no time.

* * *

_the end_


End file.
